Fact Versus Truth
by Bethrimiel
Summary: She kissed him. It's been a month now, and he still hasn't kissed her back. A Spock/Uhura story from Spock's POV during their days at the Academy- back by popular demand: this is the sequel to my other story "The Kissing Disease" but it stands alone.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: back by popular demand, this is the sequel to my first story "The Kissing Disease." It's certainly recommended reading ;) but this story stands by itself. In short-- Spock and Uhura are dating now. They've even kissed, but he has yet to kiss her back..._

Chapter 1

"Nyet, I zimply do not oonderstyand zis. It meeks no sense." The young ensign threw the stylus onto his PADD, running his fingers through his springy curls. "Ayayayay... Vhy must a nawigator know zees tings? Dere ees no logical reason."

"On the contrary, Cadet Chekov. There is every logical reason for all bridge personnel to be familiar with at least two Federation languages in addition to Standard." Spock looked up from his work and glanced over at the corner of the lab where the young cadet was sitting with his instructor.

Spock glanced briefly at the teaching aide sitting across from Chekov. The dark-skinned lieutenant was smiling slightly at him, a small smile for a human, but one that was both obvious and meaningful to the half-Vulcan commander.

"No matter how proficient your communications officer is," with some effort, he returned his gaze to the cadet she was tutoring, "it is only logical that other officers be acceptably competent in other languages. I believe there is an Earth saying," he cocked his eyebrow at the scowling ensign. "Two heads are better than one." Spock sighed slightly, returning to his work. "The metaphor is highly imperfect. The biological complications of such a mutation would negate any potential benefits."

"OK, well anyway," said Uhura, a snicker in her voice. "Our time's up. But," She leaned down and pulled out a datachip. "I found this for you. I thought it might help. Apparently a Russian linguist, Alexei Filipov, wrote a rather extensive text comparing Klingon to Russian." She handed it over to the Ensign. "I thought it might help. There's a very good section on sentence structure."

"_Spasiba_," said Chekov, accepting the datachip gratefully. He gave her a wry smile. "Noombers and charts, Starships and grawity-- dees tings I oonderstyand. Langvages..." He shrugged hopelessly. "Am scientist. Not uniwersal translator."

"Nope," she said, smiling politely, "that's my job." Uhura stood as the cadet offered her his hand. "May I ask, Pavel... have you ever considered," She cocked her head slightly, as if uncertain whether she should proceed. "To improve your Standard, I mean, have you ever considered just thinking of v's as w's and w's as v's?"

Pavel was obviously baffled. "Vith all due respect, doobleyoos are not wees, Lieutanant. Vhy vould I tink of dem dat vay?"

"Never mind," she said, waving him away with a chuckle. "_Do svedanya_, Ensign."

"_Poka_, Lieutenant."

Chekhov left the language lab, and now it was just Spock and Uhura. Uhura glanced at the clock. "Do you need anything else, commander?"

Spock, who had been watching the two cadets over the paper he was grading, now looked up at the woman standing in front of his desk, her hands clasped behind her back. He wondered if she was imitating his accustomed stance intentionally, or whether she had unconsciously adopted the pose as her own.

Blinking and realizing that he had not answered her, he glanced at his workload. There was only this paper to finish, all the lesson plans were submitted and the tutoring sessions completed. "No, I believe not, Cadet."

"Then I'm officially clocking out." She leaned over and tapped a few keys and closed down her work station. He watched her, the way her long fingers trailed so deftly and efficiently across the screen, how quickly she packed her bag, never forgetting anything, never having to come back for some lost item. She was so... logical. She stood and made as if to head out the door, but before she got there, she turned suddenly and walked around his desk instead. "I'm off-duty," she said, by way of explanation as she stood in front of him. "So I can do this."

She leaned down, her cool fingers lifting his chin slightly so she could place one chaste, slow kiss on his lips. She pulled back, leaving him staring up at her. She was smiling slightly, and a very keen observer might have seen a twitch at the corners of Spock's mouth. "I'll see you this Friday? Are we still on for dinner at your apartment?"

"Of course," he said. "I believe you were planning to... 'do take-out'?" He quirked an eyebrow in question, but Uhura's only reply was a smile.

"I think you'll like it. I remembered all the rules this time. No meat. No finger food. Not too much sweet stuff."

"Thank you, Nyota."

"Goodnight, Spock." She trailed her finger along his chin before she turned to walk away, the doors of the language lab swishing closed behind her.

Spock sat back in his chair, contemplating the memory of her cool lips on his. A month ago they had entered into their current arrangement, and he believed that he was finding it most satisfactory. They had both been ill over the semester break, but had spent much of their illness in each other's company. Even Spock had to admit that this arrangement had made the indignity of illness much easier to bear.

Now that the semester had officially begun, and both were sufficiently recovered to go about their duties, they worked together in quiet professionalism during the week. This at least came easily to him, and she had told him that his coldness, far from disconcerting her, was a relief. It made it easier for her to focus on her studies. Since she was now in her final semester of classes as a cadet, her studies were indeed most strenuous. Additionally, it was imperative that no one discover the true nature of their attachment, lest Uhura face expulsion and Spock face a possible court martial. Consequently, during the week, he would frequently see her only in labs and tutoring sessions.

But the weekends... She called them "us time" and Spock found "us time" to be a most intriguing challenge of his faculties. Friday, he suspected, would be no exception

***

When Friday finally came and classes had ended, Spock had returned to his apartment to meditate for an hour before Nyota's arrival. At promptly 1900 hours, he heard the chime of the door and rose from his meditation, extinguishing the candle.

Nyota was standing in the doorway, three containers in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Dinner?"

"Allow me to assist you," Spock took the containers from her hands and went to lay them in on the kitchen table. He could smell strange spices on the wafts of steam escaping from them. There was a pair of long, thin paper packages atop the containers, and two strangely folded pastries wrapped in plastic. Laying his burden down on the table, he picked up one of the plastic-covered cookies to examine it.

"Ah-ah-ah," she said, taking the cookies from his hands. "that's desert." She popped open the three containers. "Eat your vegetables first."

He looked inquiringly at the boxes in front of him, two of which were filled with a jumbled concoction of bite-sized chunks of food and sauces. "I do not recognize this method of food preparation."

"The west coast is the best place for Chinese food," she explained, retrieving two plates and three spoons from his cabinets.

He paused, considering this statement. "Would not China be logically the most ideal location--"

"Have you ever been to China?"

"No, but--"

"Then you don't know, do you?" She held out the bottle. "Do Vulcans drink wine?" she asked curiously.

"Not generally," he said. "There are some fermented fruit beverages produced on Vulcan, but my father's race has largely been spared the dubious benefits of alcohol."

"Suit yourself," she said, retrieving a glass and pouring some for herself. "It was a stressful day, and I think I've earned the right to indulge myself a little."

"In what way was your day stressful?" he inquired politely.

"Papers. A test. Oh and my roommate is asking questions about my mystery man. She asked if he was a professor. Again."

Spock cocked his head slightly. "And what did you tell her?"

"Oh, don't worry. I can lie in 83% of Federation dialects."

"I am merely curious," he said, peering again into one of the boxes, which was full of some sort of steamed white grain.

"Well the best lies are based in truth. I told her that my mystery man was engaged to someone offplanet. I added a few..." she paused, searching for the right word, "dramatic embellishments. The heavy sigh, the poorly concealed tear." She smiled broadly up at him. "She swallowed it."

Spock was examining the food again, attempting to identify the various sprouts, legumes and other vegetables, not to mention the sauces in which they were swimming.

"Here," she said. "Sit."

Duteously, he took a seat, and she took one beside him. "You start with the rice," She heaped a pile of sticky white grains onto his plate. "Bean curd or steamed vegetables?"

"The latter, if you please. That has the highest percentage of identifiable foodstuffs in it."

She sighed, piling steamed vegetables atop the rice. "You're so unadventurous sometimes."

He glanced over at her as she moved to pile food onto her own plate. Her smile seemed to indicate that her comment was not intended as a serious critique. "You are teasing me?" he guessed.

"You are catching on," she said, smiling at him.

"I endeavor to please," he paused, "And expand my understanding of human social interactions." Spock stared down at his plate. "Nyota, you have forgotten utensils."

"No, I remembered the rules-- no eating with your hands, right? I brought utensils. I never promised that they'd be ones you were familiar with." She tore open the thin paper packages and handed Spock a pair of thin bamboo sticks. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When eating Chinese food, use chopsticks."

"I was unaware that you had ever visited Rome," Spock commented.

"It's a turn a phrase. An Earth idiom."

She showed him how to use the chopsticks, and it did not take long for him to master their use. "Vulcans have greater capability for digital dexterity," he replied modestly to her compliments. For some reason, Nyota found this highly amusing. Spock attributed this to the wine she had already consumed.

The Chinese food was certainly intriguing. The flavors blended together and yet remained distinct. He found the crunch and flavor of the water chestnuts particularly enjoyable. He was reminded of a certain Vulcan dish most commonly served on the coastline of one of Vulcan's few oceans. It was not a dish he had enjoyed as a child, but his appreciation was growing.

They talked through most of the meal. Uhura shared colorful observation about her teachers and fellow students ("I do not understand Nyota, how do Cadet Kirk's actions in any way indicate that he was conceived outside of wedlock?") The pair discussed the complex relationship between Vulcan and Romulus, and Uhura listened, fascinated, as Spock related to her the principal teachings of Surak, in order to effectively demonstrate a few important philosophical differences between the two cultures.

"Consequently, the highest enlightenment a Vulcan can attain is to achieve _kolinahr_ and purge all emotion." Noticing that she had finished the last of her rice, Spock gathered their dishes and took them to the cleaning unit.

"Are you planning to?"

"Try to achieve _kolinahr_?"

"Yes."

Spock considered. "You once told me that you joined Starfleet because you knew it would be difficult. You cited the challenge of achieving a post on the Enterprise as one of your primary motivators." He closed the unity and turned to stare back at her. "For this reason I have long sought to achieve _kolinahr_."

"Are emotions really so bad?" she asked hesitantly. "I know this is important to you, but..."

Spock returned to sit by her side. "I am far from being qualified to even attempt _kolinahr_." He did not often initiate physical contact with her, but he sensed that this was troubling her. Laying his hand over hers, he squeezed gently, once, before drawing back. "I once thought I was ready, but I see now that it will be many years before I can consider it a realistic option. It is illogical to be concerned about things which may never happen."

"Of course," she said. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Spock frowned slightly. "This is another human idiom?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "A strange phrasing, but I believe I comprehend the metaphor."

"Here," Nyota grabbed the wrapped cookies, handing him one. "This is a fortune cookie." She tore the plastic off and removed the cookie. Spock copied her actions. "Now crack it open, like an egg. There should be a little note inside." She deftly popped hers open and removed a small strip of paper.

"What is the purpose?" Spock inquired, cracking open the cookie and removing the paper.

"There's a fortune on it," she replied, popping half the cookie in her mouth as she read her own, laughing slightly.

"Is it intended to be amusing?," Spock asked, regarding his own with a slightly dubious expression. He ate the cookie, which was a little sweet for his tastes, but not so sweet as the lollipop Nyota had brought him last weekend.

"Not necessarily," she said. "They're supposed to be predictions-- advice for the future."

"The future cannot be accurately predicted, Nyota."

"Listen to this," she said, holding up her fortune, " 'Being fascinating is tough, but ultimately worth your effort.'" She smiled at Spock. "Do you find me fascinating, Mr. Spock?"

"I believe I have told you that I do," he said, the ghost of a smile almost gracing his lips.

"What about yours?" she asked, laying hers aside.

Spock examined the paper. "'Great loss opens the door for great connection.'" He looked up at the woman across from him. "I do not see how this is any way a prediction of future events. It is, in fact a statement with only dubious connection to reality."

"It's a human thing," she said. She seemed to comprehend a meaning in the statement that he did not. The comprehension brought a slight, sad frown to her face. "It's a truism, of sorts. Maybe you'll understand it some day, but I sincerely hope not."

Spock frowned fractionally. "Is it not logical to explore all true things? Does it not expand one's understanding?"

"Some truths are painful, Mr. Spock," she said with a slight sigh.

"I do not believe that a true fact is capable of rendering physical harm. It is illogical to be pained by facts which cannot be changed."

"Truth and fact are not necessarily the same thing Mr. Spock."

"As you have told me several times. I am still not certain I understand the distinction."

She shook her head. "Call it a human weakness, then," she said, looking up at him. "If it makes you feel better."

"On the contrary, I do not be--"

She stopped him mid-word, her lips crashing softly against his. "Too much logic," she murmured. He was suddenly aware that she had closed the gap between them, and was swinging her leg over his lap.

"You said that you found logic to be sexually attractive," he commented as she straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Your hands, Spock," she reminded him gently.

They were resting, immobile, on the arms of his chair. Duteously he moved them to her waist. "Forgive me," he said. "I am endeavoring to remember the rules you and I discussed--"

She kissed him again.

"-- But I am finding them to be--" another kiss "most..." he trailed off, loosing focus as she nuzzled his cheek and gently traced the point of his ear with her fingers.

She leaned back slightly, resting her brow against his. "Do you think you're ready to try kissing back?" she asked quietly.

"You have been more than patient with me," he said. "And I am... grateful for that. I am not accustomed to..." He cleared his throat slightly. He had been staring at her lips and had lost his train of thought. "There are so few things that I find truly challenging," he said, wondering if she understood what he was trying to tell her.

"You mean that this is something that doesn't come naturally," she said.

Even though it was not a a question, he nodded once, with as much emphasis as his Vulcan side would allow.

She caught his face in her hands, staring at his eyes as if to read them. She had the same look that he had seen when she was attempting to decipher particularly garbled transmission. "But..." she continued slowly, "that doesn't mean you don't want to try."

"You joined Starfleet," he said, trying to make her see what he meant. It wasn't as if he didn't have the words. It was simply that he was not equipped to use them in this fashion. "You desire to serve aboard the Enterprise. And I have long endeavored to achieve _kolinahr_. My motivation for pursuing this relationship is not dissimilar." he frowned. "Am I... expressing my opinion adequately?"

"You're getting better," she said, kissing him sweetly on the forehead.

He closed his eyes in relief. It was always such an effort to make himself understood in situations such as this. As a scientist and an officer, his communication skills were frequently praised. He had been told that he spoke with more precision and clarity than a ship's computer. On a starship, clarity of meaning could literally be the difference between life and death. No one could ask more from a bridge officer. No one had ever demanded more from him.

Except Nyota. She demanded that he express not what was factually accurate, but what was _true_. He had, at first, been uncomfortable with her demands for openness, but he had persevered, in an effort to please her, and was surprised to find that the challenge was becoming more enjoyable than he had anticipated. It was strangely fulfilling to find that she understood even his most mediocre efforts to express himself.

Drawing himself out of his reverie, he realized that she was smoothing his hair. An illogical pursuit, since their activities would most likely cause it to become mussed again.

"You know," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "Sometimes, watching you trying to tell me things, it's like you have all the nails and boards and plans for building a house, but someone gave you a scalpel instead of a hammer."

He leaned his head back to look up at her face. "This is a human idiom?"

"A simile," she said.

"I am not certain I grasp your meaning," he confessed.

"That's OK," she said, smiling. She kissed the tip of his nose, causing him to frown slightly in confusion. Which made her giggle, for reasons beyond his comprehension. "You know," she said as her giggle subsided. "You didn't really answer my question."

He had not forgotten. He swallowed again.

"Are you afraid, Spock?"

"Fear is an irrational human reaction to events which they believe will cause them pain or discomfort," he stated.

"Well I promise I don't bite," she teased.

"On the contrary Nyota, I have frequently been forced to cover up rather compelling evidence that you do."

"Well you seemed to enjoy it. And in my defense, I didn't expect you to bruise so easily." She shifted slightly in his lap so she could look at him eye to eye. "You've been collating data on this particular activity for almost a month."

"You must admit, our... research," he quirked an eyebrow at her, "has been unfortunately limited due to circumstances beyond our control."

She sighed. "If you don't feel ready, I'm not going to force the issue. Yet."

He looked away and down slightly. "I know you must be frustrated with my lack of progress. I do not wish to be a disappointment."

"Spock." His eyes snapped back to her face. She was using exactly the fondly chiding tone that his mother so frequently employed. She captured his face between her hands. "You have never been a disappointment to me. I can foresee no eventuality which would cause that to change." She brought his face closer to hers. "I trust you."

Why was this so difficult for him? Any expression of emotion was unnatural to a Vulcan, or at least uncomfortable, but such behaviors could be learned and imitated appropriately, in order to smooth relations with more emotional species. His father had mastered certain basic facial expressions in order to allow him to communicate with humans without making them uncomfortable. A kiss was certainly more complex, but Nyota was not incorrect. He had sufficient data, so why was this relatively simple act eluding him?

Nyota sighed after a long pause in which Spock did not move. "It's OK," she said.

"You say that it is acceptable," he replied quickly, "But I believe that you are lying."

"You're right. It's not OK, but it's better than the alternative."

Spock frowned. "To which alternative do you refer?"

She kissed him firmly on the lips. "I would rather kiss you than be kissed by someone who isn't you."

And then she was kissing him, thoroughly, and Spock knew that the emotion lurking under his control was anger, and recognized that the anger his human side was feeling was turned inward, at himself, and the control that would not permit him to lean into the kiss. She had to pull his face to her, turn his head to gain access to his neck and ears. All he could offer in return was the gentle pressure of his hands around her waist.

They stayed in this position for some time, she gently kissing him, hands in his hair. His eyes were closed, hands resting on her hips. His facial expression did not change, save for a slight slackening of the jaw which allowed his lips to part slightly as she planted a series of kisses on his neck, following the curve of his ear.

"It's so... strange," she said at last, leaning back from him.

His face was immobile, but his eyes were curious.

"Your heart is here," she said, laying one hand just below his sternum.

"I am a hybrid. It should be here," he said, pointing to his side, where a human's liver would be.

"Or here," he said, tapping the left side of his chest.

"Nyota?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Our current posture is restricting blood flow to my legs."

"Couch?" she said.

"Please."

She climbed off his lap and they moved to the living room couch. He sat at one end, both feet planted on the ground, back straight and hands folded in his lap. Nyota curled up beside him, stealing one of his arms in order to drape it over her shoulders and holding his hand to ensure that he would not be able to disengage the one-armed embrace. She laid her head against his chest, right over his heart, where her sensitive ears would no doubt be able to hear it's beat.

For a moment, Spock allowed himself to simply enjoy the feeling of Nyota's weight leaning against him.

"It beats so quickly," she said in wonderment.

"A Vulcan heart beats more rapidly than a human's," he explained. "And mine is currently elevated."

She looked up from his chest. "Really?"

He cocked his head. "I may not outwardly express an emotional response, but I hope you were not under the impression that your actions have no effect on me." He met her gaze steadily. "That would be incorrect."

A smug glow crept across her face. She hummed, and he detected contentment in the tone. "It's nice to hear it," she said.

He considered asking her to clarify whether she was referring to his elevated heartbeat or the confession that her actions affected him, but decided that to do so might, as she would put it "spoil the moment."

"Spock?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking... Gaila told me about this place... a bar outside the city. Do you want to try going out tomorrow?"

"It would be a risk. If we were observed..."

"The risk would be minimal, according to Gaila. She told me that Jim used to take his cartography instructor there all the time." She pulled a face,"Much as I hate to admit it, he's not stupid enough to go somewhere he might get caught and expelled." She looked abck up at Spock. "I know you don't drink, but there's food too, and music... It could be fun."

Spock considered for a moment, weighing the benefits against the potential risks. "Do you truly believe that there is little danger of our being identified? We make a fairly distinctive couple."

"I checked the place out. It's not far from the Vulcan Starfleet embassy. As long as we both wear civilian clothes, I don't see any reason to worry. They'll just assume we came from there."

Spock glanced down at her. She was staring up at him, her dark eyes wide and hopeful. Logically, there was no reason to change their current arrangement, which was both practical and relatively secure, as well as having the advantage of plausible deniability. In his apartment, she could simply have been assisting him with a complicated project or helping grade papers. At a bar, however, it was harder to claim that they were merely work associates.

On the other hand, it would make Nyota happy, and for Spock, that was the only rationalization he required.

***

_A/N: _

_Thanks to my roommate for constantly talking Russian at me, even though I take Latin._

_Spasiba= Thank you_

_Do svedanya= until we meet again_

_Poka= bye_

_Also: I know that technically, Spock's heart _should_ be where his liver is. The canon-beast has been growling at me for that one. My internal writer valiantly overcame it, because let's be realistic here: Nyota laying her ear against where his liver would be is kind of a silly mental image, if you actually take time to picture it in your head._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Obviously not mine. If it were, I wouldn't need to write this. Cuz it'd be in the movie or a book somewhere.**

Chapter 2

Uhura met Spock at a hoverbus station outside the academy, and for caution's sake, they rode in separate sections of the bus for the first part of the ride, until the last of the cadets and instructors vacated the transport. Then Spock moved to sit beside Nyota, and was pleased to find her smiling at him.

"I believe a compliment on your attire is considered to be polite?" he inquired as he settled beside her.

"Only if you approve, Mr. Spock."

Spock considered. She wore a jacket against the chill still in the air, but under the jacket, he saw she wore black pants and a shirt of a deep crimson color and with a broadly scooped neckline that exposed her collarbone. She wore slightly more make-up than she usually did, and the earrings she wore were not the customary small ones, but elaborate and glittering.

"I believe that red is a color which suits your complexion very well." he said, truthfully. "And the cut of your shirt is very flattering to your most admirable figure."

"Well thank you Mr. Spock. Believe it or not,that's one of the most well-composed and coherent compliments I've ever received from a male." She smiled at him. "You look pretty good yourself."

"I have not been required to wear clothing other than my uniform since my arrival at Starfleet." Spock glanced down. The black shirt was high-collared, closed in the front with traditional knot-buttons and trimmed with embroidered Vulcan text. "I am afraid my civilian clothes were all of Vulcan origin." He tugged slightly at the high collar of his shirt, which was slightly too tight for his comfort. "And consequently were acquired when I was not yet full-grown."

"Here," Nyota leaned forward and started unbuttoning the high collar. "Loosen up a little. We're going to a bar, not church."

Spock watched curiously as she readjusted his garment, leaving the top few inches unbuttoned. "That's better," she said, smiling slightly as she brushed her finger over the bared skin. "You know, all this time we've been together, and I had no idea whether Vulcans could even grow chest hair."

"Some Vulcans are extremely hirsute," Spock commented lightly. He raised an eyebrow at her. "I must say, it seems an odd subject to be so curious about."

There was a momentary pause.

"Cadet, are you blushing?"

"If you could see what I was thinking, you'd probably be blushing too," she said with a slight smile.

Spock watched her as she leaned back into the seat with a sigh, the smile still on her lips. Spock cocked his head slightly. He could not recall her smiling so frequently before the commencement of their new relationship. She had smiled certainly, but not so freely as she appeared to in recent days. There had always been an almost Vulcan composure about her, a quiet dignity that could have been mistaken for coldness or aloofness. Spock wondered whether she had seen the same thing in him. Perhaps that was part of why they had been drawn to each other in the first place.

As the bus whirred quietly out of the city and into the surrounding area Spock and Uhura sat quietly, conversing easily about many things. After a time, they lapsed into silence. After a few moments, Uhura laid her hand on top of his on the armrest between them.

Spock stared at it for a few moments before very deliberately (and with no small amount of effort on his part) moving his hand in order to capture hers. Holding hands was an action relatively unfamiliar to Vulcans, and Spock found that initiating this contact was a challenge to him. She wove her fingers through his, squeezing gently. His eyes flicked over at her. She was staring straight ahead, her face composed save for the tiniest smile quirking the corner of her lips.

They sat for the rest of the ride in silence. When the bus finally came to a halt, Spock released Uhura's hand and they exited onto the streets of the town.

The bar was two blocks down from the bus station, and as they walked, Spock clasped his hands behind his back.

"I believe you said that the Vulcan embassy to Starfleet is nearby?" he asked.

"Yes, it's just across the street and then a few blocks south."

Spock nodded. "I believe the embassy is attached to a rather fascinating museum dedicated to improving relations between Earth and Vulcan by acquainting humanity with specific aspects of Vulcan culture."

"Really?" Uhura raised her eyebrows slightly. "I didn't know."

"Of course, I believe you are more familiar with Vulcan culture than many humans, but you may find it intriguing."

"We should remember that for later. Maybe we can drop by after dinner." She paused. "Did you hear that the negotiations in the Laurentian system have been stalled again?"

"I did." Spock observed that he and Uhura had already received several odd looks from passersby.

"Did you hear that Starfleet asked the Vulcans to help with maneuvers there to help stabilize the situation?"

"I believe the Vulcan High Council refused," Spock added. "On the basis that a show of force was unnecessary and that a return to negotiations was the only logical choice." He raised eyebrows. "Several of my fellow teachers had expressed to me a desire that I should... 'tell them to be less pig-headed and arrogant.' I advised them at the time that the High Council would not likely be swayed by the opinions of one half-Vulcan."

"Yes, well..."

Spock looked down at the woman walking beside him. She was watching, eyes narrowed, as a man stared openly at the pair. "Is this relevant?" he asked. "Or are we..." he searched for the human phrase, "making small talk?"

Uhura looked back at him. "Well, for our sakes, I wish their timing had been a little better, but..."

Spock's eyebrows came together fractionally. "Are you implying that their actions could affect our enjoyment of the evening? I do not see how."

"Never mind, Spock," she said, smiling to herself. "Anyway, we're here, so there's no point in worrying about it."

Spock looked up. A faint sound of music reached Spock's ears, he was able to identify the sounds of a piano and a saxophone, though both the song and the style was unfamiliar to him. Over the doorway, a retro imitation neon sign threw a red glow over the street.

"Savanna?" he said, looking inquiringly at his companion. "That seems a highly illogical name choice."

"Yeah, well," she smiled up at him, and Spock sensed that for all the reassurance she offered, she was nervous. "Humans frequently are." Her smile wavered uncertainly. Spock suspected that at this moment, a human male would offer reassurances. Spock did not even know how to initiate such an effort. His face remaining as impassive as ever, he held the old-fashioned wooden door open for her and followed her inside.

The bar was not, in the strictest sense, a bar at all. There was a bar included in the design, but Spock might have classified it as more of a restaurant that happened to have live music and a bar, a place for the enjoyment of music as well as food and beverage. It was dimly lit and smelled not unpleasantly of various foods and beverages. A buzz of conversation mingled with the musicians playing in the corner. The couple took a booth seat and ordered their food.

As soon as their orders were placed, Spock turned his attention to the band. There was indeed a piano and a saxophone. Live music was generally appealing to him, but the music in this case was distractingly disordered. It moved from one phrase to the next without warning, unexpected combinations of notes and sounds that made Spock's eyebrow rise slightly.

"I cannot detect a rational progression of musical themes," Spock commented to Uhura when he noticed her watching him apprehensively.

"It's jazz," she said, glancing back at the band. "You don't like it?"

"I am unsure," he said earnestly. "It is... highly illogical."

"That's because they're making it up as they go."

Spock's eyebrows shot up. "Improvisation? That seems unwise."

"It's part of the charm. To humans at least."

"In that respect, I must admire the skill of the players. And it seems a very... human... form of musical composition." He looked back at her. "In this respect at least, I can appreciate it." He would have added that it was not displeasing, that for some reason it reminded him of his mother, but both comments seemed unnecessary.

After a moment, he noticed that she was smiling at him, her chin resting on her fist. "I like that," she said abruptly.

He cocked his head, trying to decide what she was referring to. "Your comment is nonspecific. Are you referring to the music or my appreciation for it?"

"Neither," she said. "I was talking about your smile."

"That would be a human display of emotion. Vulcans are not prone to such actions."

Uhura was shaking her head. "You don't smile here," she said, taping her lips with one finger. "But I can see it here," she said very quietly, tapping her temples. "In your eyes."

"Fascinating," he said.

Uhura raised her eyebrows slightly in a silent question.

"On Vulcan, I was frequently told that I was possessed of... highly expressive eyes. It was never intended as a compliment."

"Well I intend it as a compliment," she said firmly.

"Then, as that is your intention, that is how I shall endeavor to take it."

Their respective salads arrived. Out of respect for his vegetarianism, Uhura frequently ate salads when she was with him. As they ate, they talked about homes. Spock did his best to explain his planet to her, but somehow his descriptions seemed to lack something when compared with hers. To her, the grass of her home were waves, golden and elegant. Africa was a land of nobility, having overcome impossible challenges to unite at last into a strong confederacy of tribes. It was infinitely beautiful. She seemed to see the universe in it's every facet.

To him, Vulcan was a planet with 1.4 Gs of gravity and a year composed of 203 days. The capital city was Shi'Kahr. The planet's totally population was nearing 6 billion. There was very little vegetation there, but what few grasses could grow there were simply grass to him.

"Was it hard?" she said, after listening to his clinically accurate description of the educational facilities in Shi'Kahr.. "Or are Vulcan children too logical to be cruel to someone just because they are different?"

"In my experiences," said Spock, quirking an eyebrow slightly, "any prejudice can be justified logically." He leaned back slightly, laying his fork down on his now-empty plate. "I believed that the injustices I suffered would be tempered by logic as my companions became more mature. I was mistaken."

"I'm sorry."

Spock shook his head. "It is not they who deserved to be censured. My reactions at the time were hardly more appropriate. Vulcans know better than to be affected by the opinions of others. I cannot exert any sort of control over how others feel or act around me, so there is no logical reason to be disrupted by it." He looked up at her. She was watching him keenly, considering her response

"Maybe that's part of the reason it's so hard for Vulcans and Humans to get along," she said after a moment. "Humans tend to do everything in their power to attempt to affect how others perceive them."

"That is illogical, as the attempt can have little likelihood of success. Additionally, there is no way to accurately calculate the success or failure of such a venture."

"Hasn't stopped us trying," she said, pushing aside her plate.

"You have finished your dinner," he noted promptly. "Do you require further refreshment?"

"Umm, a drink would be nice." She glanced at the drink menu. "Do they have Cardassian Sunrises?"

"Indeed they do," said Spock. "I believe it is considered polite for me to retrieve your drink."

"That's very chivalrous of you, Spock."

Spock rose, began to move towards the bar but turned quickly back, a confused expression bringing his eyebrows together slightly. "I am not sure I comprehend the reference. In what way are my actions related to an archaic code of behavior?"

"Just get the drinks, Spock," she said, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'll explain when you get back."

Spock ordered a Cardassian sunrise from the bartender, who obligingly began to prepare the beverage.

"Didn't know that your kind drank much," a slightly inebriated barfly commented over a shot of whiskey.

"The drink is for my friend," Spock replied courteously, without averting his eyes from the actions of the bartender.

"That's one hell of a friend," said the whiskey drinker, snorting disdainfully. "Isn't enough that you bastards take all our resources to that inhospitable dustball of yours without so much as a by-your-leave? You gonna start taking our women, too?"

"I do not believe that either of those goals are shared by any Vulcan," Spock replied coldly. He glanced over at the drunk. "Excuse me, I was unaware that insults were customary forms of introduction. Even on this planet."

"Hey," said a second voice. A taller man stood up behind the whiskey drinker. "Watch yourself."

"A highly illogical action," Spock commented, turning back to the bartender, who was handing over the beverage. Spock turned quickly to return to his table, but found his way blocked by the whiskey-drinker's taller companion. The man was joined by two more figures. None of them appeared to be as inebriated as their companion. "Would you kindly stand aside?" Spock requested. "My companion is awaiting her drink."

A blond man crossed his arms on his chest. "I don't think so, errand boy."

"I am not an errand boy," Spock said coolly.

"Fetching drinks? What is your job at the embassy, anyway? Paper boy?"

"Hardly."

"You know what we are?" said the tallest one, jabbing his thumb at his chest. "Starfleet officers."

"Indeed?" said Spock. He found that highly unlikely, but did not say so. He had no desire to antagonize them further.

"Something funny, Vulcan?"

"I do not believe so," said Spock, privately noting that Uhura might find the assertions of the drunks to be highly amusing.

"That's right," said the shortest of the three, a red-headed man whose face was spotted with freckles. "You don't feel anything do you? That would explain why simple decency and respect still escape you."

Spock frowned fractionally. "Your attempts to evoke an emotional response will be unsuccessful," he noted.

"Because you're incapable of it? Does she know that? Must be like getting screwed by an ice cube. Don't know how she puts up with it."

Spock's eyes flickered over to where Uhura was sitting. She had not yet noticed the men obstructing Spock's path. Apparently they disapproved of a human and a Vulcan pursuing a relationship. He briefly considered denying the existence of a relationship in order to avert their obvious distaste. But lying was not the Vulcan thing to do, and more importantly, they had come here precisely because it was a place where they would not be forced to conceal the truth.

" An ice cube? On the contrary," Spock shot back, his face impassively showing no sign of the train of reasoning that had gone on behind his eyes. "A Vulcan's body temperature is significantly warmer than a human's. Excuse me." Spock attempted to circumvent the three men, but the blond planted a firm hand in the middle of his chest. Spock could have easily disabled the man, and would have been well within his rights to do so. He did not wish to cause inconvenience, however.

"Is there a problem, boys?" said a chilly voice from behind them. The men turned, and Spock saw Uhura standing behind them, arms crossed on her chest. Her face was cold, impassive, almost Vulcan save for the outrage burning deep in her dark eyes.

"Just taking care of your problem, Miss," said the blond, his hand still splayed on Spock's chest.

"I believe you have my drink," she said calmly.

The tallest grabbed the glass from Spock, handing it to Uhura. "There, now we can all go about our business."

"I'm not going anywhere without my friend," she said.

"Friend?" the redhead snapped with a bark of laughter. "You think he feels anything even resembling friendship?"

Without warning, the redhead drew back his fist and swung it, hard and fast, at Spock's face. With a solid, fleshy thud, the fist connected with Spock's jaw. Spock's head was snapped to one side by the force of the blow. The pain was not great, and was certainly nothing compared to other blows that Spock had endured. Had Spock been human he might have been angered by the offense, or amused by the ineffectiveness of the effort. Slowly, he turned back to face the redhead, his face coldly impassive.

"See? He don't even feel that!"

"Gentlemen please!" the bartender shouted.

"There's no trouble here," the redhead spat.

"Oh you have no idea how much trouble you have here," Uhura said, her voice low and very dangerous.

The blond man shifted to stand directly in front of Uhura. "Come on, sweetheart, you've got to know he doesn't feel anything for you. We're just experiments to them. Curiosities. Once he's gotten the result he wants to see, he's just gonna move on. You're nothing but a petri dish to him." He jerked his chin at her. "There's nothing for you here. So take your drink and go."

"Funny,": said Uhura, looking far from amused. "I'm not thirsty any more."

With that, she dumped the drink over the blond's head. As the man spluttered and shouted, Uhura grabbed Spock's hand. He could have resisted her insistent tug, but it seemed prudent to leave the bar at that point, so he followed her.

***

_A/N: I debated a lot about including the drunks. It's another thing that's been done and done. "Oh what, Spock's in a bar? He isn't going to be beaten up by bigoted pigs, is he? I'm so surprised."_

_In the end, I couldn't say no to Uhura and her badassery. It also gave me a chance to make what I thought was an important point-- that Spock wouldn't actually fight back unless his life was in danger, and, considering his strength, it seems highly unlikely that an unarmed human would be able to inflict enough damage for him to feel the need to defend himself and beat the snot out of them. Unless it's Kirk, of course. But Kirk just brings that stuff out in people._

_Let me know what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine, despite all my efforts. So much for virgin sacrifice.**

Chapter 3

Once they were out on the street, Spock half expected Uhura to burst into an enraged, one-sided conversation about the stupidity of people in general, but she did not. She was unusually silent, in fact. Glancing over at her, he saw that her face was set in the cold, dignified expression that had fascinated him when he saw her in class for the first time.

He was surprised to discover that far from bringing him any kind of pleasure, he found that the absence of her smile was disconcerting. Perhaps she was angry with him, although that seemed highly illogical, and entirely unlike her. As her actions suggested no other option to him, he decided to inquire further and attempt to remedy the situation.

"I apologize," he said. "Perhaps I should have allowed you to fetch the drinks."

"Perhaps we should have gone to the museum instead," she snapped.

Spock frowned. "Forgive me, but I am uncertain as to the cause of your anger," he said. "I will do whatever you require to atone for my mistake."

"You think," she said, obviously attempting to control her anger with limited success. "You think I'm angry at _you_?"

"Are you not?"

"I'm angry at _myself_. For actually thinking that this would be a good idea, that this would be something that..." With difficulty, Uhura composed herself. Her lips were thin, and Spock observed a muscle in her jaw tightening reflexively. "I'm the one who needs to apologize. This was a _fiasco_. I should have known I couldn't trust humans to act decently."

Spock was suddenly pleased that the street was largely deserted. Had there been witnesses, he did not believe that he could have done what he did next. He stopped, gently grabbing her arm in order to bring her to a halt as well. She looked up at him, and Spock was able to identify emotions of anger and shame in her expression.

He frowned slightly, concentrating. Tentatively, he reached up and brushed back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. He trailed his finger along her jaw, much as she so frequently did to him. "I do not wish to see you blame yourself," he said. "Even including the actions of those particular individuals, I still consider this night to be most satisfactory."

Abruptly he released her, stepping back. "And besides, of all the feelings in the human range of emotions, self-hatred is the least logical."

She smiled slightly, a sad little smile, but Spock was satisfied. She grabbed his elbow and led him over to a bench. "Let's see what the damage is," she said, sitting down and tugging is elbow slightly to indicate he should do the same.

Gently, Spock probed the bruise forming on his jaw with one finger. It hurt, and he suspected that a greenish tinge would soon be rising beneath it. The blow appeared to have split his lip as well. As he pulled his fingers back, he saw green blood staining them.

"Are you OK?"

Spock nodded without speaking.

"Here," said Uhura, pulling a tissue out of her bag and handing it to him.

"Thank you," he said quietly, wiping the blood away, cringing inwardly at the coppery taste of his blood.

"We should report them," she said suddenly. "It shouldn't be impossible to--"

"And when the police ask us to report what we were doing so far from campus together?"

She fell silent again.

"I assure you, Nyota, this was not entirely unexpected. In fact it is something of a surprise that this had not happened before."

"How do you mean?" she asked, confused.

Spock would have smiled at her naiveté, if he had been human. "Vulcans may not be entirely adept at judging the emotions of others, but even the least educated of Vulcans can read a graph and detect a trend. Many years ago, the High Council recognized that most species have irrationally negative reactions to our demeanors."

"You mean most people find Vulcans annoying?" she asked, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Presicely." He inclined his head slightly, continuing. "In order to counteract this unfortunate reality, a program was developed. As a diplomat's son, I was trained in several methods of conflict avoidance, pain management and, as a last resort, self-defense. It was made clear to all participants that individual disputes cannot be allowed to affect official diplomacy. It would not be logical." He raised one eyebrow slightly. "The training has proved itself to be invaluable."

"Surely you haven't had to deal with this crap on campus?"

"Of course not. Starfleet personnel are... pleasantly accepting of most every species." He looked over at her. "But you misunderstand my meaning. My training was primarily of use to me while I was still on Vulcan." Her face was lit from above by the street lamp hovering overhead. In the harsh glow she looked so wide-eyed and earnest. He kept his voice carefully modulated, recognizing that relating this information would most likely horrify her. "Trust me when I say that when compared to methods employed by my classmates, the violence I endured today would be considered gentle."

Her hands were wrapped around his in a silent demonstration of affection. He was honestly a little confused by the concern showing in her face, but he squeezed her hand gently in return.

"I assure you that no permanent damage was done. The experiences of my youth helped me to accept a harsh reality that my parents had long shielded me from."

"That is what parents do," Uhura commented quietly. "It's in the job description."

"That is illogical. It is unwise to hide the truth from anyone. Once I was made aware of it, it proved to be a... difficult adjustment."

"Children are cruel, but how can a parent explain that to a child?"

"That was not the truth to which I was referring."

She looked up at him, "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I have said too much," he said, studying her face. "I do not wish to upset you."

"Spock," she said firmly, again in that gently chiding voice his mother had so frequently employed.

"I simply mean that prior to my exposure to other Vulcan children, I was under the impression that I was... normal. That I belonged."

"You _do_ belong," Uhura said fiercely, raising her hand to lay it against her cheek.

"I do not," Spock said firmly, gently removing her hand from his face. "A hybrid does not have a natural place in nature. It will always be caught between two worlds, never fully capable of fitting into either. A hybrid will always be an outsider."

There was a moment of silence. Spock did not look at her, not wishing to see her pity. He had experienced the pity of others before, had even seen it on her face, and he had no desire to see it there again. He did not find it conducive to his enjoyment. "I assure you that I have made peace with this,"a tone on the verge of annoyance crept into his voice. "As a Vulcan, any emotions which might have caused distress are nonexistent."

"Spock," she said gently. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Spock turned stiffly to look at her. There was no pity on her face, just a small, wry smile. "Only if it is appropriate to share."

"Everyone feels like that."

"Like what?"

"Alone. Like we don't fit in."

Spock stiffened slightly. "Loneliness is a human emotion. I may not be fully Vulcan, but I have had the benefit of all its training in that area."

"You're not fooling me with that," she said. "Don't try to logic it away, because you can't. After all," she shrugged. "It's only logical to feel it. Any being capable of independent thought _is_ alone."

"That seems inconsistent. I am here with you. You, as I recall, had four siblings. How can you reasonably consider yourself to be alone?"

"I'm the first Starfleet officer in my family." Uhura was smiling lopsidedly. "My mother is a teacher, my father owns a small factory. One of my sisters is already a teacher, the other is planning to take over the factory. And the twins are planning to open a satellite factory in the next province." She shrugged. "They aren't exactly reaching for the stars. I don't think any of them have ever even been offplanet. We don't really have much in common." She furrowed her brows slightly. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'alone in a crowd?'"

"A highly illogical Earth idiom, but I am familiar with it."

"Yeah well, truth is, most everybody feels that way at some point or another. It's part of being alive."

"You said earlier that most humans would do anything to change the opinions of others. Is this why?"

She nodded. "I think so. We all feel lonely, and we all want it to go away."

"This suggests that humans place high value on the thoughts and opinions of others. Even complete strangers."

"Well, I don't know about _all_ humans, but most do, yeah."

"That... is fascinating," said Spock his eyebrows coming together slightly. "It merits further contemplation, certainly." He paused for a moment, his brain analyzing variables in an instant, processing events and calculating likelihoods. After a moment, he turned to Uhura. "It is 2100 hours. Are you tired?"

"Not especially."

"I believe the museum at the Vulcan embassy to Starfleet is fully automated and open 24 hours a day. If you are amenable to it, I would like to show you something."

"Of course, Spock. Anything."

***

The museum was carefully organized. As he had been raised and trained on Vulcan, Spock did not even need to look at the map. It was arranged exactly as one would logically expect. Bypassing the exhibits on first contact and the history of Vulcan space travel, he led her through the wing of the museum dedicated to Vulcan culture.

The museum was designed and lit to resemble the surface of Vulcan itself. The walls were imitation red stone, and the ceiling above was as bright as the clear, clean pale sky of a Vulcan summer. The air, however, was carefully modulated, dry and cool and entirely unlike the oppressive heat of Vulcan. The discrepancy was necessary for the preservation of the artifacts.

Finally, at the very back of the exhibit on Vulcan culture, there was a fissure in the fake rock of the walls. There was a Vulcan inscription on one side. Spock noticed that Nyota did not need to read the Standard translation to know what the inscription read.

"_T'kahr Vesht-Var_?" She looked over at him. "Ancient history?" She raised her eyebrows. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

"I do not believe that this era would have been covered very thoroughly in your history classes. We tend to consider it irrelevant to our relations with other species." Hands clasped neatly behind his back, Spock walked into the entrance, his eyes adjusting instantly to the difference in illumination.

"I know that your planet was nearly torn apart by wars," she said, following. "It was fairly nonspecific, but most planets go through a period of turmoil before eventual unification."

"Indeed."

It would take Uhura slightly longer to adjust to the dimmer lighting in this section of the museum. When her heard her slight gasp, he knew that she could see clearly again.

Artifacts from before the rise of Surak were placed into niches in the wall, tucked away behind glass as if that small barrier could protect them from history. There were several brutal and archaic weapons, and an entire suit of ceremonial battle armor. Dominating an entire wall of the exhibit was a collection of _limein_, Vulcan ceremonial masks. It was this that Uhura was staring at.

Each face was, unmistakably Vulcan, noble features with uplifted brows and pointed ears, but each was twisted into violently emotional expressions. Rage and passion. Fear and lust. The light threw shadows across the menacing faces, deepening scowls and shadowing the empty eye holes. They were the sort of expressions one might expect to see on the face of a madman. They were disturbingly intense for any race, but to see these expressions on Vulcan facial structures was... disconcerting.

"These are incredible," said Uhura, examining the detail in the passionately expressive masks.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable," said Spock stiffly.

"They remind me of ancient tribal masks from Africa," Nyota commented. She was shaking her head. "I've never even seen pictures of these."

"Vulcans consider them..." He searched for an appropriate word in Standard. "Undignified. Shameful. Obscene is probably the closest translation of the Vulcan phrase."

Uhura looked back at him. He was standing stiffly, hands clasped tightly behind him. "Why?" she asked.

"They are from a time before we embraced logic. I believe that much is obvious," he raised an eyebrow slightly, eyes tracing across the violently expressive masks.

"I didn't know that there _was_ a time before you embraced logic."

"Naturally," Spock said coolly. "When relating human history to other species, you do not generally begin with the Holocaust and your World Wars." Spock raised his chin slightly, staring at the masks. "This is not dissimilar. Vulcans have known anger, and greed. In the past, we have been conquerers and warriors. Savage, even by human standards. Logic brings a serenity that humans have difficulty understanding. There is..." Spock paused, his lips thin. "Logic is more than simple philosophy. It is what keeps us from _that_." He nodded at the masks.

"OK," she said, looking back and forth between the cold face of Spock and the faces on the wall. "I can see why logic is important to Vulcans, but I'm not sure why you're showing this to me."

"You shared an important facet of the human psyche with me. It seemed only fair to return the favor."

She smiled, chuckling slightly, but he was not finished.

"And I want you to understand," he continued, before the chuckle had died on her lips. "Vulcans need logic. Without it, we are monstrous. The Vulcan without logic is driven by passions that make him capable of deeds that even the most ill-tempered human would never contemplate. It is a fact of our evolution. The harsh conditions of our planet dictate that any race struggling to survive there must, by simple necessity, be savage."

She was not chuckling now, She was frowning slightly, still uncertain where he was taking this. Spock sighed. The human pattern of thought was so different from a Vulcan's.

"It seemed prudent for me to share these facts with you. I wish for you to understand something that the individuals at the bar did not," he explained slowly, "and your indication that humans are affected by the opinions of others led me to the conclusion that by extension you must also suffer from this affliction."

Uhura's brows came together as she caught up with his reasoning. Spock was startled to see her expression shift from confusion to skeptical disbelief to offense. What had he said to insult her? "You think," she spluttered, "You think I give a _damn_ what those _morons_ at the bar said?"

If Spock had been human, a twinge of fear might have showed in his confusion. Uhura was clearly outraged. "You indicated that humans place high value on the thoughts and opinions of others."

"I said _most_ humans! Do I seem like _most_ humans to you?" There was a very dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Your tone indicates that you do not desire an affirmative answer. However, physically, and psychologically, I do not detect major deviations from the usual human pattern of existence."

"You and your logic," she said, planting her fists on her hips. "Is it _usual human behavior_ to actively prefer the company of a Vulcan over that of fellow humans?"

Spock considered this. "No," he admitted at last.

"Then obviously there are some _deviations_ in my pattern, as you so poetically put it."

"Your sarcasm seems to indicate that you are angry with me," he said, softly. "I was merely trying to acquaint you with a specific aspect of Vulcan society in the hopes that it would clarify certain matters for you."

"And what _aspect_ was that?"

Spock indicated the masks behind her with one hand. "The teachings of Surak mean that Vulcans do not allow emotions to affect their decisions or actions. That would be... most unwise. And possibly unsafe. Logic allows us to control that which might otherwise destroy us. It allows us to operate above passions that are both destructive and unnecessary."

He frowned slightly reaching out and gently laying a hand on Uhura's shoulder. "I am trying to tell you that just because a Vulcan does not _express_ something doesn't mean that he cannot, on some level, _feel_ it."

Like magic, her expression softened. "Spock," She reached up and touched his cheek lightly. "You think I don't know that?"

Spock tilted his head, his eyebrows raising slightly. "I do not see how you could. Humans communicate emotions through expressions and verbal declarations. I am prone to neither."

"I have very good ears." She smiled. "I can even hear the things you don't say."

"That seems highly unlikely." He was frowning now, focusing on Uhura's face. "And yet you do not show any signs of having lied."

"Remember how we were talking about the difference between facts and truths?"

"Of course."

"This is one of them." She leaned forward, rising up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Come on," she said. "It's getting late. We should catch a hoverbus."

She turned to exit the exhibit, but Spock reached out, grabbing her arm to stop her. She looked back at him. "What is it?" she said, seeing something in his eyes, something like a smile.

For a moment he simply stared at her, brows furrowed. "Vulcans do not use cameras in their security arrangements," he commented suddenly.

"What are you--" She fell silent at the look on his face. He stepped forward one step , bringing him into her personal space.

Uhura had seen looks of lust before. More than she cared to think about. They had long ago lost their dubious charm.

The look in Spock's eyes was nothing like that. Not one bit. It was not even a look of love, precisely. It was a focused, expression, intense concentration and single-minded purpose. As if this instant was the most important thing in the galaxy, the only equation worthy of his special attention at this moment.

With deliberation and painstaking slowness, Spock leaned down, angling his head at the last moment and very cautiously pressing his lips to hers. His lips were hot, feverish against hers, and with some difficulty she repressed a very human urge to push herself against him, pull him close and remove the last few inches of emptiness between them. She knew it would only make him uncomfortable, and she desperately, desperately did not want him to stop for any reason.

The kiss was chaste, and relatively brief, but she knew that he would have been incapable of doing even that had there been even the slightest chance of witnesses. After a moment, he pulled back, leaving his forehead burning against hers. She left her eyes closed a moment longer, savoring the feeling of him. His kiss. _He_ kissed _her_.

Finally she opened her eyes and saw that his were still closed, lips slightly parted and one eyebrow quirked slightly. _There is nothing in the world more wonderful than that eyebrow!_ she thought to herself, containing a smile and a bubble of laughter. She did not want to disturb him. She wanted to remember that face.

There was an expression on his face, and subtle as it was, all his expressions were precious to her. It was somewhere between exultation and childish wonderment. It was visible only in the slight slackening of his jaw, the relaxation around his dark eyes, the shadow of a smile on his sweet lips, but it was real.

After a moment, his face settled into a more serene expression and he pulled away from hers. "I believe that it would be advisable for us to return to campus. It is becoming quite late."

She nodded, knowing better than to be offended by the sudden shift in attitude. She can see in his eyes, hear in his voice that he feels more than he can express at this time.

So she'll wait for him.

***

_A/N: and voila! Spock kissed her back! *throws confetti*_

_Anyways-- I'm actually more or less happy with this chapter. I know I changed POV at the end there. I did that deliberately. Because I wanted to , mostly. I wanted to catch a glimpse of what Uhura was thinking._

_I'm going to a family reunion this weekend, but I promise I'll get the next (and last) chapter up as soon as I can! I eat reviews! Don't let me starve :)  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Mild sexiness in this chapter. Unless kissing and Vulcan handporn squicks you out, you should be more or less safe._

**Disclaimer. If I had the money, I'd be willing to buy this. Since I don't, I'll have to satisfy myself with fanfiction.**

Epilogue

To her credit, she did wait until they got back to his apartment. As soon as the door closed behind her, she dropped her bag and grabbed him, kissing fiercely on the lips. For a moment he was shocked and stood stock still, back straight as a board. After a second, he leaned into the kiss, raising his hands to the small of her back.

_Mutual participation_, he decided, _is indeed preferable_.

"Thank you," she whispered, breaking the kiss to rest her forehead against his. "I know you don't.. I mean I know this isn't easy for you."

Spock frowned slightly. "It is not," he admitted, "and yet..." Curiously, he raised a hand and brushed a wisp of hair back from her face. Instead of drawing back, he allowed his finger to trail lightly down the shell of her ear, and traced the delicate lines of her neck, ending lightly at her collarbone. He was so focused on his task that he didn't notice Uhura's expression until she let out an involuntary sigh.

"Fascinating." he said, and indulged his curiosity.

As a student of kissing, as in all other things, Spock progressed in leaps and bounds, now that his control had been finally bypassed. He was not passionate. He would never be passionate. He was, after all, an alien, to whom passion was a foreign and dangerous thing. He had determined, on their ride back from the museum, that Uhura's fierceness would have to suffice for both of them. He instead focused on precision and efficacy.

For example, gently tracing the line of her collarbone elicited a positive reaction. Repeating this action with his lips produced an even more vehement positive reaction. His touches were feather light, but he suspected that his higher body temperature was adequate compensation. His kisses were always measured, restrained, precise. And, he was discovering to his great satisfaction that they seemed to be most effective.

"Oh this is so worth the wait!" Uhura gasped.

Spock looked up from his gentle study of her collarbone and neck. "I take that my time observing and collating data has been well spent?"

"Indeed," she said, a hitch in her voice. She pulled his face back to hers and pressed her lips against his.

The smile that quirked his lips was hidden by their kiss.

She was tugging fretfully at the bottom of his shirt. "Please," she gasped.

"It seems unwise," he murmured into her neck, his hands trailing lightly down her spine, an action that she had frequently used against him. To his increasing satisfaction, it made her gasp slightly. In fact, he had to wrap his arms around her in order to keep her upright.

"I don't care," she growled against his neck, tugging at the buttons of his shirt now.

"Nyota--" Spock forgot what action he had been planning to attempt next as Nyota fumbled with his shirt, her fingers brushing his exposed skin. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with how unwise their actions were. There were a thousand reasons to make the cadet stop, and all of them seemed to be jockeying for attention.

She was shifting against him, molding her body to his. "I know it's just human emotion and hormones or whatever—"

He attempted to back away from her, back straight and every muscle tensed. His stiff posture created an odd contrast to the liquid movements of her body. _She is still a cadet, I am still a teacher, this is inappropriate._ "Nyota--"

She tightened her grip on the back of his neck, silencing him with a kiss. "I've been really patient," She said between kisses, "But _please_, Spock."

_I am Vulcan, she is human. There are things she does not yet know..._ Spock cleared his throat, trying to ignore what she was doing to his ear. "Nyota, it seems that you have been overtaken by a human reaction of--"

"I'll give _you_ a human reaction," she said, pushing herself against him with increasing ferocity.

"Nyota _please_." He didn't realize that he had raised his voice until he saw the hurt look on her face as she jumped back from him as though burned.

The hurt shifted almost instantly to guilt, "I'm sorry," she said, her voice high and soft. "I don't know what I--"

"You were experiencing a very human reaction," he said calmly as he regained his composure.

One glance at Uhura discomposed him slightly, a minute frown disrupting his countenance. She had ducked her head, embarrassment and shame making her gaze at the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. She turned and moved to go to the door. Determining that her intention was to leave, Spock reacted instantly. His hand flashed out across the doorway, gripping the frame tightly. His arm was now blocking her exit.

"I do not wish for you to depart," he said softly.

She did not look up at him, but from what he could see, he suspected that her eyes were welling up. He frowned, uncertain of the precise cause of her emotional response.

"Nyota," he said. "It seems you are upset. May I inquire why?"

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to lose control like that..."

He raised her chin slightly. "You are human. I know enough of human physiology to have expected that this would happen. Your restraint has been truly remarkable, and you have indeed been very patient with me." he paused. "There is information I believe I must share with you, before we determine how to proceed."

He took her hand and led her over to the couch. She sat wiping her eyes before looking up at him expectantly. He knew that it was considered polite to sit, but he chose to violate custom on this occasion. He stood a few steps back from the couch, hands clasped behind his back.

"It is my understanding that humans frequently participate in certain activities, beyond what is required for the continuation of the species. Is that correct?"

Uhura blinked a few times, frowning slightly. "Are you asking me if humans have sex for fun?"

Spock tilted his head slightly in agreement. "To put it crudely."

Uhura shrugged. "Well yes, we do. Sex _is _fun. Or at least it certainly can be." She paused, studying his face. "I gather that Vulcans don't."

"It is not logical."

"Of course not," she said, shaking her head. "For the record, you guys have _no idea_ what you're missing out on. Did you really think that I would make you to do something you didn't want to do?"

Spock frowned, sensing that there was no acceptable answer to this question.

She crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows incredulously at him. "This is the 23rd century, Spock. Teachers can call rape on students too, you know."

Spock's frown deepened slightly. "Do you believe that I would take such an action? Against you?"

She shrugged. "It is illogical to assume anything. Besides, why would I push you into having sex with me when I have a sneaking suspicion," She reached up and touched that triangle of exposed skin at the collar of his shirt, "that you're going to be very, _very_ good at all the other stuff."

"Other... stuff?"

"We have a long way to go, you and I." She lowered her hand to grab his, but he backed out of her reach.

"Nyota, please..." He swallowed. "If it is our intention to carry on with this relationship, it is only correct that certain information be shared with you."

"What is it, Spock?"

"This is... not generally shared with offworlders," his voice sounded stiff, even to him, and he could only imagine what it sounded like to Uhura's sensitive ears. Her expression was difficult to read. She was no longer on the verge of tears, but she also looked as though she was unsure what to make of the current situation. "Please try to understand. There is a... process. Among my people it is not spoken of. Ever."

She was staring up, trying to catch his eyes. "Well whatever it is, you know you can trust--"

"Please, Nyota," he said, breaking eye contact. He walked around to stand behind the couch, hoping she would not turn and stare, although he knew she would. "I do not wish to be interrupted." She fell silent immediately and he began again. "Once every seven years, a Vulcan male must return to his home planet in order to be with his bonded mate. During this time he loses control of himself. Logic is stripped from him, and he is completely taken over by his instincts."

Spock took a deep breath, still refusing to look at the woman on the couch. "It is known as Pon Farr. The time of mating." He swallowed. "Of course, if we chose to continue with this relationship, I will take steps to break off my connection with T'Pring, but you should know that a Vulcan in Pon Farr is a danger to those around him. _All_ those around him. My father was... it is my understanding that heavy sedatives were administered."

Spock risked a glance at Uhura. Her eyebrows were raised, but thankfully she looked neither shocked nor horrified. A little surprised, perhaps still confused, but not disgusted. And... was it possible that a smile was tugging at one corner of her mouth?

"The price you pay for being so logical."

"I do not see why the pursuit of logic would have a price affixed to it."

"Oh yeah? Ask your mom about that some time."

Spock frowned slightly. "I do not believe that this could be considered amusing, even by human standards."

"You have a lot to learn about nervous humor, Spock," she said, laughing tensely.

"Please, Nyota, this could be very serious. I am three times stronger than you. I vividly recall my mother's injuries--"

Nyota pressed her palms to her temples, exasperation in her voice "I don't know why we're talking about this. One minute you're kissing me, the next we're talking about bonded mates. Take a step back, Spock, we've been dating for a _month_. We'll cross that bridge--"

"When we come to it," he said, nodding. He frowned slightly, "But it _is_ your belief that this 'bridge' as you call it, may have to be crossed? You believe that we will be together that long?"

"I _hope_ so." She smiled reassuringly at him.

Spock let out a relieved breath he did not realize he had been holding. "Considering the compatibility of our personalities, I must conclude that your hopes are not unfounded."

"And you?" she said. "What do you hope for?"

"Vulcans do not generally indulge in unsupportable desires," he said quietly. "However, I would not have shared this information with you if I did not believe that it would become relevant at some point."

"Then you would have no objection to continuing our previous activities?" she said, looking up at him through her lashes and imitating his speech patterns.

He suddenly realized that his mouth was very dry. He could find no logical objection at the moment, so he nodded, swallowing slightly.

She nodded, swinging her legs over the back of his couch and sliding off to stand in front of him. She did not touch him, her arms clasped behind her, staring up into his face. "This is all very new to you."

It was not a question. Nevertheless, he shook his head. _How utterly unnecessary,_ he thought, even as he did.

"You never forget the first one," she said, still holding his gaze with her large, dark eyes. "I remember mine, out under the Syringa tree in my back yard. He was older, and not really looking for more than a good time, but he spoke five Earth languages and three Federation ones."

"Nyota?" he said, about to inquire about the relevancy of this topic.

She raised one finger. "When he kissed me, for the first time, I started babbling. Luckily, he _didn't_ speak Swahili, so he didn't know what half the stupid things I said even meant." She stared intently at his face, as if trying to understand. "Is that what happened here? Is all this logic and discussion... is this what a Vulcan sounds like when he's babbling?"

Spock straightened slightly. A human might have looked indignant. Spock just raised one eyebrow, his face composed. "I'm not certain I comprehend your meaning."

"I'm sure you don't." She grabbed his hand, her fingers brushing across the back.

Spock fought to maintain his composure.

"I know this must seem very strange to you," she said quietly, following the lines of his bones with her cool fingertips. Against his will, Spock felt his heartbeat stutter and quicken. "And I appreciate what you've done so far. But you've got to understand," She caught his gaze, "I'm only human, and this is new to me too."

Spock tried to focus on he words, but she was circling his knuckles with her thumb now. He knew he was breathing at an elevated rate, but he was having trouble determining whether or not she would be able to detect the change.

"So you're right, we've got to talk things out. And discussion and logic are going to be important if we are going to make this work, and I _want_ this to work." She squeezed his hand gently. "You've got to talk to me, Spock. Not about what's proper and logical and traditional, though. You've got to tell me what you're thinking, because I can't read you very well."

"On the contrary," he said very quietly. I believe you... read me... better than anyone I have met."

She was beaming at him, her eyes darting over his face. He found that her smile was extremely pleasing to him.

She squeezed his hand again, one finger tracing a line on the side of his palm. Spock could not help but stiffen slightly at the touch, inhaling through his nose. His eyes flicked from their joined hands to her face, hoping that she hadn't noticed his reaction.

She had. "Are you OK, Spock?"

For a moment, Spock didn't say anything. She was still holding his hand, her fingers resting lightly on the back.

"The hand is a very sensitive area in Vulcan anatomy," he blurted at last, his voice uncharacteristically fast. "Hence the Vulcan salute and our refusal to participate in traditional Terran handshakes."

Uhura looked slightly taken aback. "Sensitive?"

"Extremely," Spock answered quickly.

"And by sensitive, do you mean it's an erogen--"

"Something similar," Spock cut in, trying to keep his tone modulated.

Uhura let out a short bark of laughter. "My, my Mister Spock. Do you mean to tell me, all this time I've spent trying to get you hot and bothered..." She was smiling wickedly, keeping his hand trapped in hers. "And all I needed to do was..." She trailed a finger along the back of his hand from his wrist to his fingertip.

Spock's eyes widened fractionally. His other hand snapped up to grab her wrist. "Before we proceed, I must be sure that you understand..." He met her eyes with a look that kept her from interrupting him. "I will not participate in certain activities you may wish to engage in. I wish to please you, but not as a human male would."

"Only once every seven years?"

He nodded. "When not in the grips of Pon Farr, Vulcan men do not suffer from the effects of testosterone as human males do."

She nodded slowly, considering the implications of this, a frown creeping across her face. "So whereas when most men look at me, they're thinking with their libidos, when you look at me..." She looked over at him, confusion filling her face. "What is it exactly that you see in me?"

Spock considered her expression. There was something unexpected there, a vulnerability he had never seen in her before. It suddenly struck him that Uhura had expected him to be motivated by lust, as most human males would be. Without it, she seemed less certain of her own worth.

"Spock?" she said, a heartbreaking uncertainty in her voice. He had known her to be a confidant, self-assured woman, but he began to understand that what she had been so certain of was her own attractiveness.

He gazed at her, struggling to pinpoint what exactly it was that drew him to her. "You are a highly intelligent woman," he said, "Surely you are aware of that?"

She shrugged. "Most men-- well, most men who've expressed interest in me, at any rate, find that brains just get in the way of other things."

An unfamiliar sensation-- possibly some form of outrage-- flashed in his chest. It seemed both illogical and morally reprehensible for human males to treat their women so disrespectfully and then blame their physiology. Were they entirely unaware of the psychological damage such actions inflicted?

Uhura was still talking. "I guess this is... well, if I'd thought about it, I shouldn't be surprised, but I assumed that you felt some kind of attraction to me... you know, physically. Otherwise, why go through the trouble to date me?"

"You wished it, and I found that the thought was not disagreeable. Our relationship has brought me ample opportunity to expand my understanding of humanity, and--"

"That's logic, Spock. I want to know what you feel. I'm an illogical, undisciplined alien." She seemed genuinely confused. "I just... I don't know what you see in me," she repeated at last.

"Presumably,"' he said slowly, meeting her gaze and trying to make her comprehend the meaning he could not find words for, "it is the same thing that you see in me."

She did not seem to understand, so he continued.

"To you, I must seem..." he searched for the correct words. "Distant? Aloof? Cold, perhaps." He frowned. "If you can explain what it is that draws you to me, then I will attempt to find words that adequately express my connection to you."

She smiled at that, her expression pensive. "That's... actually nice." she said at last, sounding slightly surprised. "Refreshing." She sighed, brows furrowing slightly. " But it seems unfair to you." She gazed up at him, meeting his eyes. "I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Spock sat in silence for a moment, considering this. He reached out to take her hand, pausing halfway there. "If you are not unwilling?"

"I am very willing. I am all kinds of willing," she assured him quickly.

Spock nodded, and gently took one of her hands in his. He formed her fingers into the traditional Vulcan gesture of affection, first two fingers raised, thumb slightly out. Mirroring this gesture, he pressed his hand to hers. Brows slightly furrowed, he moved his hand, trailing his fingers along the back of her hand before returning to press his hand to hers. Having finished this, he looked over at her, and nodded slightly.

Frowning slightly in concentration, he imitated his gesture, her cool fingers trailing over his feverish skin. Spock's eyes fell half-shut. Her hands were so smooth, so cool compared to his, like frosty silk against his skin. Her nails brushed lightly against his wrist, sending shudders down his spine, before trailing up his palm and pressing her hand against his again. His heart was fluttering now, and he was certainly breathing more rapidly than he had, even though he felt entirely relaxed.

She looked up at him and a sudden smile broke across her face like sunlight. She laughed lightly, a triumphant laugh. "It _is_ green!" she said exultantly.

Spock frowned slightly.

"Very pale, very yellowish, but definitely green," she elaborated, reaching up with her free hand and brushed his cheek and the tip of his ear. Suddenly, he realized that their activities had doubtless caused his blood to rush to the surface, causing a greenish flush to rise up his neck and into his face.

He was blushing.

It took only a moment's concentration to make the green retreat, but her triumphant smile remained. Spock realized that he had formed an illogical attachment to that expression. It meant that she was happy, and that pleased him greatly. He found that her happiness was more satisfying to him than the successful programming of a complicated simulation. It was more fascinating than the investigation of new life on a new planet. It was more fulfilling than correctly deducing the cause of an unusual reading from a ship's sensor.

He leaned forward very slowly and kissed her gently, letting his eyes slide closed. Her fingers intertwined with his, her thumb tracing spirals on his palm as he deepened the kiss, experimenting with tongue and teeth. She moaned in pleasure and pulled him closer.

He smiled slightly against her lips. It was only logical for a Vulcan to stretch his boundaries, explore new territory. It was part of improving oneself, of expanding horizons. He trailed slow kisses along her jawline and down her neck, quietly intrigued by the small sounds she was making.

And even though he knew that it was likely that he would face more dangerous and more complicated situations in his career at Starfleet, he also knew that she was the greatest and most rewarding challenge he would ever face. And though this thought was not factually accurate, he perceived that it was, indeed, truthful.

* FIN *

_A/N: I had a blast writing this chapter, even though it gave me more trouble than it should have. Sorry it took me this long to update, I hope it was worth it :)_

_And before you say it, yes, I _know_ I'm a dreadful tease for not finishing up that scene with Spock taking Uhura roughly against the wall, but I thought that would be unforgivably OOC . Trust me when I say that I'm sure that Spock does find a way to make Uhura a very, very happy woman ;)_

_As for the whole no-sex thing- It is my understanding, from watching TOS, that Vulcans just don't have sex outside of Pon Farr. I'm not saying they can't, I'm just saying they don't. I'm sure Uhura will find a way to bypass that aspect of Spock's control, just not in this story._

_Please let me know what you think-- all reviews are welcome!_


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